“I mean exactly what I say. Let me get
back. When I go fishing I prefer to go alone,”
the girl said.

“But what am I to say to Lady Ranscomb?”

“Tell her that I love Hugh,” laughed the
girl defiantly. “Tell her that I intend
to defeat all her clever intrigues and sly devices!”

His countenance now showed that he was angry.
He and Lady Ranscomb thoroughly understood each other.
He admired the girl, and her mother had assured him
her affection for Hugh Henfrey was but a passing fancy.
This stubborn outburst was to him a complete revelation.

“I have no knowledge of any intrigue, Dorise,”
he said in that bland, superior manner which always
irritated her. She knew that a dozen mothers
with eligible feminine encumbrances were trying to
angle him, and that Lady Ranscomb was greatly envied
by them. But to be the wife of the self-conscious
ass—­well, as she has already bluntly told
him, she would die rather than become Mrs. George
Sherrard.

“Intrigue!” the girl retorted. “Why,
from first to last the whole thing is a plot between
my mother and yourself. Please give me credit
for just a little intelligence. First, I despise
you as a coward. During the war you crept into
a little clerkship in the Home Office in order to save
your precious skin, while Hugh went to the front and
risked his life flying a ‘bomber’ over
the enemy’s lines. You were a miserable
stay-at-home, hiding in your little bolt-hole in Whitehall
when the Zepps came over, while Hugh Henfrey fought
for his King and for Britain. Now I am quite
frank, Mr. Sherrard. That’s why I despise
you!” and the girl’s pale face showed
two pink spots in the centre of her cheeks.

“Really,” he said in that same superior
tone which he so constantly assumed. “I
must say that you are the reverse of polite, Miss Dorise,”
and his colour heightened.

“I am! And I intend to be so!” she
cried in a frenzy, for all her affection for Hugh
had in those moments been redoubled. Her lover
was accused and had no chance of self-defence.
“Go back to my mother,” she went on.
“Tell her every word I have said and embroider
it as much as you like. Then you can both put
your wits together a little further. But, remember,
I shall exert my own woman’s wits against yours.
And as soon as you feel it practicable, I hope you
will leave Blairglas. And further, if you have
not left by noon to-morrow, I will tell my maid, Duncan,
the whole story of this sinister plot to part me from
Hugh. She will spread it, I assure you.
Maids gossip—­and to a purpose when their
mistresses will it so.”

“But Dorise—­”

“Enough! Mr. Sherrard. I prefer to
walk up to the Castle by myself. Murray will
bring up the rods. Please tell my mother what
I say when you get back,” she added. “The
night train from Perth to London leaves at nine-forty
to-night,” she said with biting sarcasm.